


The Machine

by freshwoods



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 18:08:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshwoods/pseuds/freshwoods
Summary: Inspired by the song "The Machine" by Mary Lambert.





	The Machine

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The sound echoes through the house. Bucky’s so accustomed to it by now that he barely notices it much anymore. Steve’s hand in his is cold, feels like too many cold, wet winters have seeped into his skin. Bucky thought he’d left that behind in the 40’s, thought that Steve’s serum would fix him of all that.

But it turns out not everything can be cured by it.

The machine beeps as Bucky takes in his best friend, lying on the hospital bed set up in the living room of their home. Hospice, they called it. The fire burns in the heath, heating the room until it’s almost stifling. Sweat runs down the back of Bucky’s shirt, yet Steve seems unaffected by it, shivering under the covers, eyes staring up at Bucky like he can’t see him.

And that’s the worst part, really. It wasn’t shaving Steve’s head when his hair started falling out, or when his hands no longer seemed to work the way they used to. It wasn’t shaving his own head in solidarity or running soothing hands up and down the other man’s back when he got sick, hunched over the toilet, heaving until he passed out and Bucky had to clean him up and carry him to bed. It wasn’t watching the slow decline of the only person Bucky’d ever had by his side. It wasn’t sleepless nights and making sure Steve took all of his massive amounts of medication without choking on it, without spitting it out in a way to premeditate his own conclusion. It wasn’t knowing that Steve would never be _Steve_ again.

It was moments like these, when Bucky feared that maybe Steve was already gone.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice comes, thready, weak. Bucky looks to his face—chapped lips, cheekbones protruding from his pale, gaunt face.

Bucky clutches Steve’s hand more firmly, trying in vain to warm it up. “I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m here, Stevie.”

“‘M cold, Buck.” And now that Bucky’s looking, he sees the small shivers that wrack Steve’s bundled form. “So…cold.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

“It’s okay, Stevie. Do you want another blanket?” Bucky pushes his hair from his sweaty forehead, making to get up. “I can go get you another one—”

“N-no.” Steve coughs then—a wet, awful sound that always manages to haunt Bucky when he sleeps. Steve squeezes his hand, a just barely-there sensation. “Just—just stay.”

Bucky stares at him when Steve closes his eyes. He’s so pale today, bags under his eyes so bruised. His grip is weak, chest heaving up and down in a harsh, stuttering rhythm.

“I wanna sleep, Buck.”

Steve’s whisper catches Bucky off-guard. He sounds like he’s asking permission and Bucky’s not sure what to make of that. Bucky’s heart beats faster. He stands up on shaky legs to lean over the bed. He doesn’t know what compels him, but he presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead—cold, like stone.

Steve opens his eyes and Bucky looks down at him, bringing his hands up to cradle the other man’s face. “Sleep, Steve. It’s okay.” Bucky nods as Steve’s eyelids flutter. There’s a lump in his throat, but he forces it down, does what Steve needs him to do.

“Go to sleep.”

Those eyelids finally close, and Steve exhales one long, quiet breath.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

…

_Silence._

Horrible, awful silence. It deafens him, makes his head go fuzzy. His chest feels like it’s been kicked, caved in. His hands struggle for more purchase on Steve’s face, grasping like he could hold Steve back, keep him here. A sob escapes his throat and Bucky presses his forehead to Steve’s still one, body convulsing as he weeps.

He knew this day would come, but he thought it would be further off, after all the wars and fighting was done, after they’d had time to explore the world, for Bucky to _tell_ Steve everything he’d needed to tell him for damn near 80 years. He didn’t think that it would be like this, Steve freezing in the summer heat, his body giving up on him once again, for the last time. Bucky swore he would always be there to save him, that he would always have his back, keep him safe.

But now, Bucky’s failed. Steve’s gone and never coming back.

And all that Bucky knows is that life isn’t worth living without Steve by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr](https://freshwoods.tumblr.com/) and [pillowfort](https://pillowfort.io/freshwoods/)!


End file.
